It was no short walk from the middle of town, through the slightly muddied, crowded, noisy streets to what could only be partially considered the outskirts of town. Truth be told, the uselessly large, ridiculously empty house was really out of city limits, and that was most certainly on purpose. It was quiet, the beach was practically pristine, and, well, it somehow seemed appropriate at the time.

At least it wasn't raining too hard; just a mist that clung to everything but didn't seem interested in soaking through. If it had been pouring, the walk probably would've been rather miserable without an umbrella. It was cold enough with the fog and the sea breeze.

Wavorly was apparently not around, so Corwynn was left to hold the slightly ugly, glaringly expensive front doors open himself and at least make a play at actually possessing manners. He did, once, probably have more than the handful he'd decided to keep as useful in the Harbor. There wasn't actually an indoor shooting range, though by the cavernous emptiness of a great deal of his house, the idea was not an impossibility so much as a hassle. The brief respite inside was simply a shorter path than around the entire house to the small-but-sufficient range the galdor and his butler had put time into on their own,

"Everything is actually out on the beach." The gunman paused to hook a thumb in the direction of the barren sitting room with the doors that led to the porch walk currently half-buried in wet, dark sand. Wiping some of the moisture that clung to his coat and blond curls, he added, "You'll be as far away as I can clocking manage from my walls once we're out there."

The wet. The rain. Rosalie hissed out a sound, her own hair gone limp and flat under the force of the day's humidity, the corset under her clothing itchy and uncomfortable and it was only the afternoon. No chance of changing out of it, anytime soon.

Well, maybe a little chance...

She made a noise as they stepped into the house, working fingers through her hair to leave it a tousled mess, and shot a look out onto the beach. Not exactly her ideal training grounds. Her eyes strayed absently back onto Corwynn, to her package, and a frown spread across her mouth.

"Don't they work based on fire?" A rolling gesture, hesitating inside where it was dry, "I mean, won't the water...damage them?"

"It's covered out there." the galdor chuckled, not bothering to hide any amusement from his expression, "There won't be any actual firing in the rain. Still, it's not impossible ..."

Corwynn considered the best way to give a more detailed answer, shifting to draw his own weapon between them, turning it to one side so the actual firing mechanism was obvious. He'd experimented with the shapes of the parts for quite some time until he'd discovered a design that maintained performance without sacrificing accuracy in inclement weather. It could probably still use some work, but it wasn't really often he had free time to fiddle with details when the pistol was actually in need of daily use.Thumb pulling back the hammer to give a clear view of the flash, fingers far from the trigger, he replied,

"Being in the Harbor guarantees wet weather, unfortunately. A bit of wax around the pan and a holster that actually covers the flintlock itself keeps the whole thing from getting soaked. Soggy gunpowder won't do a thing, of course, but a bit of moisture won't keep it from firing."

He considered offering a towel. At least he had some umbrellas in the foyer, "You'll always get one shot; it's the rest that may be up to chance."

Rosalie smoothed hair back out of her eyes so that she could look the weapon over; watch his fingers work in a puzzled but curious way. She didn't really have a clue how the thing worked, and while she might have known logically that it had to do with gunpowder and fire, that there was chemical science to the weapon, some instinctive part of her had always assumed it worked like any other magic.

"Wax around the pan." She'd try to remember that, certainly, but hopefully he'd go over the details of her new highly-illegal weapon in much more detail so that she could actually take care of it on her own, once she was on the ship...

"..fine. Let's go shoot it, then." One step, and then she twisted and turned, head tipped to blink up at him. Let him lead the way. It was his house, after all.

Tucking his pistol away without flourish, back under the relative dryness of his coat, Corwynn paused to snatch up an umbrella, nodding towards the mostly glass doors in the practically empty sitting room that led out to a porch and the dark, wet beach. It was hardly the weather for a walk in the sand, the ocean angry and foaming and the sand soaked enough to stick to everything.

He held the door open, at least, opening the umbrella and offering to hold it between them. It was still mostly misting, not pouring, but it was better than nothing. The slight breeze would still make moisture cling to clothing.

The blond galdor led the way across the beach, cutting a line across the firmer packed sand towards what looked like a booth or a make-shift shelter. Beyond the booth were varying lines of targets, some wood, some now very soaked paper, all clearly marked with distances in a careful hand. The shelter itself was hardly two walls and a roof, with a low table in the front for resting weapons on. There was a trunk on one side, waterproof and with a lock that must've held supplies like ammunition and powder.

Corwynn closed the umbrella and leaned it against the opposite wall, "So, I apologize for the lack of living targets. It's always a good idea to get used to stationary things ... first."

His grin was perhaps a little wolfish and he nodded at her box, "It's not loaded in there, if you were wondering."

That bit didn't even occur to her; with a cannon, loading it was a major process, took more than just a flick of the wrist or a press of a thumb. Rosalie blinked up at him once, hauled out of some thought, before it registered and she offered just a flash of a thoughtless, absent smile.

"How often do you do this? I mean..." He had a structure for shooting practice? She rolled a hand at his shelter, shaking water from her hair and gently setting down the box at her feet. She was damp, and wet, clothing sticking in uncomfortable places and not much she could do about that. Hopefully there would be a shower, once they were finished.

"You seem prepared. Or is this just for practice?"

"Practice?" Corwynn echoed, already messing with the lock on the trunk, scowling a little, "As often as I can, which, lately is hardly often enough."

Once opened, he leaned against it on one palm and smirked over his shoulder at Rosalie. He probably should've offered that towel, but niceties and thoughtfulness were not always the blond's strong point at all. That much was most likely obvious by now. He set a few things on the counter: some wax, bullets and what might have been a container of powder.

"I test new designs out here on occasion—every gun I make I shoot first. Yours works, but we'll have to adjust the sights to you, not me. I've taught a few other employees how to fire a pistol, though it's certainly by my invitation and not their request when I can help it." He shrugged, grinning almost teasingly, "I'd like to think I'm always prepared; it's not very often I wander around disarmed ... on purpose."

He decided not to delve to far into that comment, changing the subject with a chuckle, blue eyes straying from the passive's face to her box, "Let's see what you can do with that thing before it decides to clocking rain us out."

Rosalie met his eyes for a moment, box propped against her hip, a frown on her lips like she didn't exactly like where he was going with the comments -- and was only too glad to change the subject and move on to the meat of the matter. She shifted in to set her package down on the table, hesitating just a moment before she nudged it open.

Her expression betrayed her, a little. It really was a gorgeous weapon. She might have been more comfortable with a sword, but she could at least appreciate the craftsmanship.

Rosalie had to clear her throat, looking up at him again. "I don't even know where to start with this. Loading it? Powder and ball?"

Corwynn hummed almost indecisively before lifting his own pistol again and holding it out as an example, "Here, we'll walk through some things."

Pointing down or towards the range as he explained all the parts and their basic functions, he didn't bother to go into too much confusing detail about each mechanism's tiny intricacies so much as he attempted to stay practical. Rosalie didn't need to know exactly how the flintlock and trigger were connected somewhere in there; she just should probably know how it all sort of fit, especially if she was going to ever take it apart and clean it.

The blond galdor took a few moments to explain some general safety, mostly for their sake while practicing. Obviously, in combat, it was acceptable to point a pistol in the direction of your target ... but here ... well ... the targets were down the range, not in the booth. Mostly. He hoped, anyway.

His pistol was already loaded, so he set it aside to go through the steps with the passive. Once through with that process, he finished by indicating the difference in hammer position with his weapon, "You can carry that around half-cocked without a problem, but once you pull back the hammer, it's best to actually have something to fire at ... Generally speaking, wherever you already know where to stick a sword is still fair game for a bullet."

"That much, I knew." The rest of it, though, she'd listened to with a rapt and focused attention - no joking, no questioning, no snide remarks, no touching. Just intent green eyes, quiet nods. It was very important that she learned the basics, and Rosalie was aware of that. She did not want her gun blowing up in her face.

Her eyes flashed up onto Corwynn's face, instead, her head tipped to the side. "You want me to explain it back to you, or are we launching straight into violence?"

"Violence, surely."

Came the reply clipped between coarse laughter, Corwynn's less whole hand straying briefly into his sunny curls to toss a few of the still-wet strands from his forehead, "You can explain it back to me when you reload."

With a thoughtful sound in his throat at those words, he stepped back to give the passive room, weathered expression turning curious, "Show me how you think you should aim that thing ... before you actually go firing it."

Rosalie frowned just a little and turned her attention down to her weapon. Cannons were all she knew, and she was trying to make the most of that to -- to what? To impress Corwynn? Why should she care, when she already had the job under her belt? But she did, and it meant that she considered for a moment before shifting to set her feet, to brace herself.

When you fired a cannon, the kickback was big enough to throw men across the deck, to break bones, if the weapon wasn't trussed down well enough. This was a smaller weapon, certainly, but even still, Rosalie woildn't want to end up flat on her ass in the wet grass with Corwynn grinning smugly down at her...

She made a sharp noise and set the heel of her free hand against the butt of the gun, sighting awkwardly down the barrel.

The blond galdor stood quietly while the passive found a comfortable but awkward position, a distantly amused expression creased into his weathered features. Then he was up from the wall and behind her, wordlessly adjusting her stance with a thoughtful hum. A foot shifting her leg into a more forward, aggressive position. Hands moving elbows and shoulders, traveling with a casual familiarity—of guns, of bodies, of Rosalie—to turn hips in compliment the position of her feet.

"Better." Corwynn laughed once he was finished, stepping away without lingering, "It won't knock you in the teeth, I promise."

Nodding down the range, he added with a grin, "Exhale as you fire and try not to blink."

She could do that much, at least - but instead of the slow, deliberate care of an expertly aimed shot, Rosalie blew out a sharp breath and tightened her finger almost reflexively on the trigger. It would have the same basic result: ignition of the powder, ball propelled through the chamber, a bang and a recoil, but not the same overall result. The twitchy way she'd tensed and fired didn't have the delicacy that usually made a good shot.

Maybe she needed to breathe in and then out.

There was the expected crack and flash, smoke appearing heavier in the moist air as the weapon was fired. Corwynn had watched Rosalie fire, blue eyes taking in her form and her comfort level, the position of her hands and the tension not so atypical of being new to a firearm. He didn't need to slide his gaze away to the firing range to see the results, for the hiss of the bullet meeting sand, skidding and burying into its surface was tell-tale enough.

No target was hit with that shot, though the bullet might have at least come to rest near a pole. It was hard to tell once it disappeared into the soaked, dark beach.

"Hmm." Purred the blond thoughtfully, though there was no hint of chiding in his expression despite the arch of an eyebrow, "Not bad for a first shot." He wasn't teasing or mocking—the passive hadn't shot into the air or at the booth or at himself, after all.

Corwynn shrugged and nodded in the direction of the powder and the bullets, indicating he'd be watching her reload this time, "Now you know what to expect, so we'll work on aim a bit. Maybe get you to relax a little."

Relaxing didn't actually seem all that likely; there was a light to her expression, in the aftermath of the explosion, and something in the way that she tipped her head back to consider Corwynn over her shoulder that was not relaxed at all. Not nervous, either. Rosalie had really enjoyed that.

"Not so much force as I expected, but a lot more noise." There was the sudden, sharp flash of a grin up at him, almost worrisome, really. He might have been creating a monster. Rosalie shifted, resettled, tipping her head down to begin the process of reloading her weapon.

"Doesn't seem very accurate, though." That might even have been a joke.

"Mmm." An amused noise hesitated somewhere in Corwynn's throat, as if he struggled to hold back whatever comment he might have had about accuracy in favor of something else, "Not a stealth weapon, no." Not in the hands of the non-magical, anyway. There were spells for that, when necessary.

Far be it from him to be displeased with any recognizable excitement in the passive's expression—no, in some ways, that had its own rewards. The gunman had no qualms with spreading the joy of firearms across the Harbor when it suited him, after all. Even more so if those weapons weren't in the hands of the Drain so much as against them. He hoped, anyway.

The blond galdor let his eyes drift from the divot in the sand where her bullet had buried itself to watch Rosalie reload, "The sights may be more in line with my own preferences," he offered with a sardonic, placating grin, "but that's adjustable once I'm satisfied with your comfort with firing first."

"You know what would make me really comfortable?" There was a teasing, sly edge to her voice, a look shot up at him and then her chin pointed out toward the target. It was a dare, wicked, and she didn't mean it one bit. Rosalie wasn't annoyed enough at Corwynn to fire on him, just now. Other times, however...

She dropped her head again, finished loading and preparing the weapon, and then raised it. This time, she settled in more slowly, trying to mimic the position he'd levered her into, adjusting feet and bracing the weapon -- but less tense. She pulled the trigger, and flinched at the sound despite herself, but it wasn't nearly so bad as the first time.

The blond galdor snorted at her taunting threat, responding without any hesitance in his coy tone, "I think I'd be pretty safe out there at the moment."

He laughed quietly, rolling his shoulders in mock dismissal as he tilted his head to watch Rosalie aim again, this time without intervention or comment. She'd have to get the hang of it on her own, after all. He certainly wasn't going back to sea any time soon, at least not on a ship that didn't belong to Hawke.

This time was better. The time taken and slight easing of her posture seemed to improve the passive's aim. A satisfying thunk was much more encouraging than the hiss of sand, and her bullet actually buried itself in the thick wood behind a target. Sure, it was low and to the right of the first ring, far from the bullseye ... but. It was still a hit.

"You have a chance at hitting flesh." Purred Corwynn, blue eyes lingering on the target before sliding across the range and back to fall carefully onto Rosalie, "Eventually. See if you can get in the rings with the next shot and then we'll know how off your sight is."

It might have been too far to the right, after all. It was hard for the gunman to tell just yet.

"...hmmp." She blinked at it, surprised and maybe a bit delighted. No, it wasn't a good shot, but she had hit the target, and yes, she might have struck something vital to a human being had that been flesh and not paper. For a moment, Rosalie just stared at the target, and then she remembered herself all in a rush -- setting to reloading the gun, her head tipped down and hair cutting across his face, actually beginning to enjoy it, now. Preferred the sword, maybe, but still.

"How good of a shot are you, anyway?" She shook the hair out of her face as she looked up from her work, green eyes very bright. The edge of excitement behind her movements, now, wasn't going to do any favors. This time as she aimed up her shot, there was tension in there again, a jittery kind of energy, and she pulled the trigger too soon.

The blond gunman said nothing at first, having watched her fire with something of a response against the back of his teeth, held back by the flash and the bang instead. Blue eyes followed Rosalie's line of sight and watched the target through the rain. The right edge of the target splintered, her slightly unfocused shot only a glancing blow of splinters and burnt paper. The bullet found sand down the range instead.

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" Corwynn finally scoffed, mocking offense at the very question. It was an indirect answer given with a wan smile creasing into his sea-weathered features. Nothing haughty so much as almost evasive, slippery.

He'd been better once.

Not that he had too much competition that he knew of.

Thumbing his nose, the galdor shifted his gaze from the passive's face to her weapon. Reaching for it with his other hand to finally check her sights, he added, "I'd say I'm a clocking good shot, really, but that kind of talk's just begging for me to end up bleeding on the streets instead."